


If you are gonna be somebody's heartbreak, be mine

by the_scent_of_your_memory



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angry Sex, Banter, But kind of, Concussions, Fights, I'm Sorry, Jealous Louis, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Injuries, Oral Sex, Smut, Swearing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a lot of that actually, ahahahha, i don't know what happened with the ending, of that too, this whole thing doesn't make sense, too - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_scent_of_your_memory/pseuds/the_scent_of_your_memory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As scientifically proven, hurling stuff at stuff can be pretty convincing. </p><p>Sometimes.</p><p>It all ends with a minor concussion, a lot of angry sex, a sprinkle of cuddles (sort of)(no, not really), two teaspoons of unbelievbly stupid banter, all served with a tad of general idiocity and that's it folks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you are gonna be somebody's heartbreak, be mine

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know where all this came from and i still don't believe it was me who wrote this thing. Don't judge me, I'm weird.
> 
> As always, I'm Italian, for any little mistake please take pity and bear with me. Again, I don't know where the summary came from. I'm having like, issues and yeah. I swear A LOT because buc, i just do and this is not a crack fic but it does touch a very low point in my existence.
> 
> [my tumblr](http://poopydoopylou.tumblr.com/), if you wanna insult me, i'd get you

_Crash_

“I swear Tommo, I’m gonna kill you so much I—“

_Another crash_

Dammit

Louis swears he really didn’t plan this out when he got here fifteen minutes ago. He didn’t want to start a fight, because like.

Things with Nicholas has been quite nice and okay lately and he was really not looking forward one of their usual stupid quarrels, which start from nowhere and seem to go on and on forever and never end and bring out always more shit that was already there to cause them.

Because seriously. He and Nick never seem to cooperate when it comes to arguments, because it looks like they are never intended to actually put an end to them, but just to make their own point against the one of the other. They arguments don’t follow a path, they unfold chaotically and very often swerve out of the main topic. There are some times where at some points they even forget _why_ they were fighting in first place, but none of them is willing to admit it and point out the absurdity of the whole thing, so they just keep arguing till one of them lash out and the chances of killing each other get too close to trespass the limit of legacy.

Kind of like right now.

Louis doesn’t actually know how they got to the point where he started to throw plates and everything within reach at him from the other side of the kitchen, because, well, he doesn’t really know but here they are, shouting at each other _things,_ Nick just dodged a glass still full of water, crashing against the wall and splashing water all over the wooden floor, and hid around the corner of the corridor to avoid the firing line.

 Okay, maybe things sort of get out of hand.

"Fuck you, you idiot."

_Another plate_

Definitely out of hands.

"Why the hell are you getting so angry, we were just dancing."

Louis thinks that Nick must have been a really good person in another life –because surely he hasn’t in this one- since it’s a godlike miracle if Louis isn’t strangling him and letting his wrinkled body hang lifeless from the chandelier yet. Because Louis is still wondering why would Nick invite him out through _even_ a phone call -which can be considered a real honour when it comes to Nick who never condescends to such thoughtful acts towards common mortal people- and then spend the entire night rubbing his dick against another man’s crotch.

And it’s not like he was planning this to happen when he stumbled out a taxi at 4 in the morning and attached his finger to Nick’s flat doorbell with the intention of talking with Nick and sorting out what just had happened few hours before. But then Nick started to ramble about having to wake up early, for, dunno, work or something, and not having time to deal with Louis’ jealous bullshits and Louis was still drunk, from the one (or seven) shot of Tequila he had had while waiting for the taxi, and slightly angry so you can blame that if he grabbed Nick’s phone from the kitchen table and threw it at Nick, hitting him in the chest and watching it falling on the ground in pieces.

And then things sort of escalate from there and the situation slipped from a phantom rational and firm grip of their hands.

And like. It’s not as if they are not used to this, bickering and fighting like bloody teenagers, dishing out backhanded compliments at each other and then quite always ending up on the floor wrestling to decide for a winner, but. But there are, like, feelings, kind of, involved here and he knows how much he can push things before they snap and backfire him straight in the ass.

But his hands are twitching to skin Nick alive and he’s not sober enough to formulate better plans.

"Dancing? DANCING? You were grinding your crotch against his ass, bloody wanker, it’s a little bit different," he shouts, rummaging through Nick’s cupboard to find something else to hurl at him just to busy his hands.

"Oh c’mon, Boobear, you are exaggerating as always," Nick grins, as if this was a damn joke to him and he normally has fun getting things thrown at him. Louis files this information for later and future references and moves on to better things. Like popping into his mouth a poor poor biscuit slipped from a forsaken packet on the counter.

"I’m not exaggerating Nick, and don’t bloody call me that, or I’m gonna stab you," he threatens with a half eaten banana, soft and pudgy but Nick doesn’t have to know.

"Christ, talking to you is quite literally causing my blood pressure to rise to unhealthy levels. I’m too young and beautiful for this.”

“If you don’t shut up Nicholas, I swear.”

“Are you on your period, by any chance?” he laughs, then Louis’ face get murderous and "oh Lou, please, no no no st-"

He can’t finish his plea because the banana hits the frame of a photo on the wall two inches away from Nick’s face, glasses shattering on the light blue carpet, a little splinter cuts Nick’s forehead just above his eyebrow. He brings an hand up to rub away some blood droplets dripping down his cheek, gasping at the sight of it staining his fingertips, rising his eyes back up to glare at him, who doesn’t look sorry not even a bit.

"Fuck you, you idiot, you hurt me."

"Well, you deserve it for being a brat and going around rubbing your bits on every bloke who looks at you," he spits back, tilting his head in a way that is almost painful but at this point he can't care less.

Nick waves his hands in the air dismissively, but half-way through the gesture Louis hurls the packet of biscuits that probably Nick was saving to nurse his hangover, whose content is now all over the floor, muddled with the water that’s probably ruining the wooden floor and _ha, serves it right!_

"Lou can you stop throwing stuff at me please?"

"No," and he throws a chestnut at his direction, missing him completely but he was aiming to scare so yeah. Louis 3, Nick 0.

"You are smashing all my stuff, dumbass, stop." Nick tries from the doorway, winding his hand through his messy quiff and rubbing it against his face as if he can’t believe this is really his life.

"Then get out of here."

"Louis, this is my flat," and well nothing to argue with this but it’s not like Louis _cares,_ so he taps his index finger against his chin, pretending to be considering the idea and then dismissing it altogether.

“I think I’m gonna keep throwing stuff at you,” and disintegrates an apple against a drawer _._

"An apple Lou? Really? Are you going to commit a fruitcide in my kitchen and expect me to watch without saying a word? Oh you wound me Loubear."

Louis groans and slaps a hand over his eyes, running it down his face, exasperation apparent. “I will wound your face if you don’t shut up.”

"Louis, I’m a grown up man, single and independent, I don’t need you to act like a jealous girlfriend, because last time I checked, you were not."

Louis lets out an indignant gasp, glaring at him even though he’s half hidden behind the wall. “So what are you saying is that I can rub my bum against the prick of whoever I want?”. He places both hands on his hips trying to look as sassy and petulant as humanly possible, knowing it will have Nick’s blood boiling.

Nick points a finger at him, taking a cautious and yet resolute step towards him. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

"Aaaah, so you can and I don’t?" he asks, and now he’s really angry because really, what the fuck.

"We are talking about Harry, Lou, he’s your bloody best friend."

Okay Louis might have forgotten to mention that the guy Nick was sensually dancing with was Harry and okay. Harry and Louis have been friends since they both wore nappies and still didn’t know that mud cakes aren’t supposed to be eaten, huh-uh. But the problem is exactly in the _sensually_ , because you simply don’t dance like that with a friend, in particular if his name’s not Louis Tomlinson and in particular if you invited before-mentioned guy out and you are supposed to stay with him and buy him drinks and tell him how sexy he looks in the new jeans he bought and –

"Tonight you were looking at him like you wanted to ravish him against a wall."

"I didn’t, Lou. Fuck listen to yourself, you sound like I actually owe you an explanation even if I did."

A wounded expression creeps on Louis’ face, sharp and harsh as the words just voiced. And, yeah, he knows it’s theoretically true, but he wonders when they will stop pretending that what is obviously there between them doesn’t really exist or is simply not important enough to be acknowledged. Because it can’t be just Louis in this, it can’t be just him who feels the pull. The attraction, the need of being closer and closer, almost an urge to always look for that contact that leaves them breathless like they can’t really breathe properly when they are together and yet they can’t help it.

He tells himself again (firmly) that he’s going to get over Nicholas Grimshaw, starting from now.

Ok maybe not now _now,_ he needs a little bit of warning because it’s not like he can, physically, stop pining and moping about a guy that has entered his life like a fucking wrecking ball and got under his skin when Louis in first place didn’t want him to because let’s face it. Falling in love with a knob ain’t funny, not even a bit, and has some very morbid and weird side effects that Louis couldn’t really predict since he’s known for not actually caring about consequences and since he didn’t predict the whole thing to begin with.

So yeah. Side effects, if you’d care to call them like that. He thinks someone like Nick should come along with a instructions booklet with “handle with caution, hipster prick inside who might break your heart and call you fat because he thinks it’s funny” in capitals letters, in bold and even underlined with cute red exclamation marks and hearts and—

Okay, he really have to stop this train of thoughts before it goes somewhere dangerous and crash against the metaphorical wall of his mental sanity and make a big mess of his little innocent brain. This whole thing is teetering at the edge of ridiculous and is giving a new rise to all sorts of shame and even though his warped mind is actually enjoying this – his dick too, but he planned on not listening to whatever it says, which has been proved difficult and very much at the verge of a big fat fiasco -  he’s getting more and more reticent in keeping this crap on.

But then Nick opens his stupid mouth again and what comes out is “I don’t even know why I hang out with a sanctimonious holier-than-thou spoiled prat like you. You are not even that cute” and yeah, this really takes the cake.

And like, it’s not as if he hasn’t been doing this for the last thirty minutes since he walked into this flat, and it wasn’t like he was actually aiming at him or trying to hurt him –oh well, a little? But not like, _fatally_ or something, just a little amount of pain to remind Nick that Louis is really angry this time – but the glass ashtray hits Nick square in the forehead and makes him jerk backward and hit the wall behind him.

Nick’s mumble under his breath something that resembles “little son of bitch” before his eyes get heavy-lidded, then roll at the back of his head and his body slumps on the floor with a loud thud.

Louis stays there, frozen for few seconds before his mind gets back into focus and after letting out a screeching scream he runs past the kitchen table, fishes his phone out from his pocket and while dialling some random digits, he kneels beside Nick’s still body and everything gets pitch black

-

He wakes up for the fifth times, dazed, vision fuzzy and his head hurts a bloody amount of _fuck_. He thinks he might have hit it when he passed out at the front desk when they wouldn’t let him in or tell him if Nick was okay because unfortunately in the papers he’s fucking no one.

His back hurts too, because these bloody _things_ he’s sprawled on are a real torture and the most uncomfortable chairs he’s ever had the pleasure to place his wonderful bum on.

Nick’s parents arrived a couple of hours ago, letting the nurse lead them through the maze of rooms and corridors. He couldn’t find the strength to stand up and go talk to them, afraid of feeling again the embarrassment he proved when the paramedics asked him what had happened and he had to tell them that he kind of threw an ashtray at him in the attempt to kind of tell him he kind of loves him.

Yeah, everything just kind of happened.

He’s biting his nails when Nick’s father comes out of the corridor, eyes still puffy and red-rimmed roaming around the hall, then landing on Louis, and he doesn’t understand the relief that flashes over them.

He’s mentally having a long and intense chat with God above because he’s a really wanker for having given him such a beautiful life and then proceeding in taking it away from him through the wrinkled hands of a sixty-years-old something and he’s too tiny and young to suffer this much.

“He wants to see you.”

Life is unfair really, he has people to see, places to be and—wait, what?

“He’s been asking about you for hours and I was going to kill him myself so I guessed it as better if I came here and find you,” he smiles softly.

Louis doesn’t really know what to say, guessing sorry wouldn’t really be kind of dumb right now – considering he kind of isn’t- so he nods and tries to crooks his mouth in a faint smile. A hand rests on his shoulder and shakes him a little bit, in what Louis assumes being an attempt to reassure him.

And yeah, it sort of helps.

Nick’s father smiles down at him and there is something in his eyes that Louis doesn’t want to acknowledge so he pretends it’s just apprehension and wills his mind to go somewhere else. But then Nick’s father opens his mouth and “anyway, nice aim kiddo,” and Louis groans inwardly so loud his head might explode because

This. Is. So. Embarrassing.

_

So yeah, magazines are quite cute and he doesn’t know why but suddenly the sexual life style of Lindsay Lohan seems all so interesting right now.

Okay, that’s a blatant lie but he’s trying to find a reason for why he’s still not in Nick’s room to apologize so that he can make sweet sweet love to Louis while he tells him how much he loves him and planning the names of their twenty-four children and whether pink or light-blue is better for the babies room and if—okay hang on. He needs coffee. Or maybe not, since he’s not sure he can actually handle any kind of amount of exciting substance in his system right now.

 He’s dozing off again when he sees Harry running past the sliding doors and looking around for familiar faces. When his eyes land on Louis, his mouth flattens to a thick line, so he takes a shuddering breath because he knows what’s coming and he’s certain his head can’t handle any kind of amount of Harry’s overreacting crap right, too, now. Or ever.

“You fucking killed him.”

Here we go.

“Oh fuck Harry no you too. He just got five stitches and a minor concussion.”

“Just a minor—“. Harry passes a hand over his face, closing his eyes and taking long and deep breaths and Louis is grateful because it means he’s trying really hard not to kill him. He might understand the gift of friendship now. Amazing really.

“What the hell has gotten to you?”

“I don’t know. I was angry, because you--and, and him--and I couldn’t stand it.”

Any trace of anger fades from Harry’s face, and before Louis can slap that pitying expression off his face, Harry’s hugging and squeezing him in a tight embrace. Louis sighs, returning this very annoying PDA and nuzzling his face in the crook of Harry’s collarbone.

Harry presses a kiss to his cheek and breathes out against his forehead “you are such an idiot,” and well he can’t really argue with this, can’t he? Because like, it’s true but he is a besotted kind of idiot so he thinks he can be forgiven.

“I’m in love with him,” and it’s really not an answer but from way Harry’s arms squeeze him tighter and he thinks that maybe it kind of is.

 

_ ____

 

Again, he doesn’t know what he’s doing here, lost in his cramped and messy flat when he should be in Nick’s hospital room to apologize.

But when he got to his room, Harry leading him into the scaring depth of the ED, he froze, there in the door way. Because seeing Nick so small in that too big bed in a sterile and empty room was so fucking wrong. It seemed like his body wasn’t cooperating to make his body move to face the repercussion of his very, very stupid behaviour.

And like, he knows Nick would forgive him immediately because they are friends and friends do that, right?

But he knows it’s not this, what he fears. He’s afraid of the pity plastered on everybody face knowing he nearly killed the guy he’s in love with because he can’t deal with the fact that probably  Louis will never be what Nick needs, what Nick wants, no matter how many dishes he throws at him and how many times his heart skips a beat when Nick smiles at him. And they would pity him because they know Nick probably is in love with Harry or with someone other really sexy and interesting model or simply too cool to hang around that way with someone as average as Louis, who listens to Lady Gaga and the last book he read was the instructions of his microwave because his eggs kept exploding when he tried to make himself breakfast and he was sure something was wrong with _something_.

But he guesses he should just bite the bullet and snap the fuck out of whatever this is before he goes completely batshit and dies of some dumb disease only idiots get.

There are 6 missed call and 20 unread messages from Harry and Louis knows they will contain far too many exclamations and swears than he’s willing to dwell on right now and he’s not in the mood for Harry’s maniac use of aggressive caps lock.

So he fumbles with his DVDs collection looking for something to distract him, chain-smoking cigarettes like the smoke that fills his lungs will make the guilt less painful, as if he focuses hard enough on the burn of his throat he can pretend his heart doesn’t hurt as much as it does.

 

_

 

The phone is still ringing, somewhere between the cushions where he can pretend he can’t reach it even if he wanted.

He lights up another fag and lets it paint the stale air with white slivers of smoke, and if Nick were here he would probably bitch him for hours about waste of money, and--and lungs cancer and summat but Nick is not here so he stands up and pads to the kitchen to get another beer from the fridge, because his throat is starting to burn a little too much and he really needs it to insult people, and he’s not ready to give that up yet.

He’s sprawled naked on the couch, going through the hugest sandwich he’s ever seen when there is a knock at the door. A shiver runs down his spine and makes goosebumps rise all over his bare skin because he’s know who is waiting on the other side of that damn door.

He knows that if he doesn’t open the door Harry will come in like a fucking SWAP and jump on him with a bazooka and vaporize him. He plays rock, paper, scissors in his head to decide who’s gonna stand up to the door - and he doesn’t even know why he always loses - so he reluctantly stands up, collects his pants behind the TV – he wanted to change channel but he couldn’t find the remote and since he scientifically proved that hurling stuff at stuff can be pretty convincing, sometimes, his pants were the only thing within reach — and prepares himself to deal with Harry and all his talk about _feelings_ and _responsibilities_ and whatever.

And like, he shouldn’t find it funny, he really shouldn’t, because just minutes ago he was drowning in guilt and self-pity, but seeing Nick in the doorway with gauze around his head and wearing a hospital gown that probably show off his bum is really proving Louis self-control. He’s trying so hard to keep himself from bursting into hysterical laughter that his belly almost hurts, and he can’t really help the little whine he lets out because he would ravish Nick even right now when he looks like he just came out from an apocalyptic cheap movie with really bad special effects.

“You, you fucking idiot,” Nick bloody growls, like, _growls_ , like a caveman and Louis can’t really find a plausible reason that doesn’t scream _you need to close yourself in a room, possibly padded_ , for why his dick twitches inside his pants because there really isn’t one. He takes three steps back, though, because he’s not ready for the living shit to be beaten out of him and he’s pretty fond of his cute face, thank you.

“What is wrong with you? You start a bloody intifada in my kitchen and attempt to behead me and yet you don’t even have the balls to come and apologize? Do I really mean so little to you?” and no, no, no, Nick got it completely wrong, like, he should win the prize of wrongness, which isn’t probably a word but he can’t come up with anything else better right now.

And then Nick’s face softens all of a sudden, his entire body relaxes like he’s just figured out the sense of life just looking into Louis’ scared blue eyes.

"Why did you run away Lou?"

And Louis doesn’t know how to tell him. How to tell him what those Saturdays nights inside cramped little clubs with music too loud for the few people dancing around them on the dance floor mean to him. How those fights that go on and on forever and that always end up with Louis throwing punches at him and Nick holding his wrists to stop him and grinning down at him like he’s dealing with a toddler (which is probably a very accurate simile) are committed to Louis’ memory, tattooed behind his eyelids with bright clarity. Those smiles and grins that try to fix awful words and hands that always touch in the wrong way, even though just the colour of Nick’s eyes would be enough to make things right again.

And it sucks. It really sucks that Nick doesn’t seem to see this, and that’s why when Louis answers he’s shouting and it doesn’t even matter.

"Because you are a self-righteous pompous twat who listens to dump stupid hipster music, who wears suede boots with holes like he doesn’t have the money to buy another pair, who orders Scotch at bar thinking to look cool when he just looks like a bloody wanker and then when nobody sees him he drowns all my Pina Colada with the cute pink umbrellas that I always insist on and that he keeps saying he hates when I know he doesn’t and you don’t ever shut up and you talk through films and you do things like bust your skull open against a wall and because you have my number saved as “twinky little ass” and I’m fucking in love with you."

He takes a long long breath because he feels like he’s going to pass out and again, he thinks this doesn’t count as an answer, but maybe this kind of does too. Because, in a hypothetical rational grand scheme of things, technically it’s not an answer per sé, but in Louis’ mind it made pretty much a lot of sense while he was saying it. He might be considering the idea of backtracking and blame the concussion that he’s sure it’s there, somewhere, just.

Just Nick’s jaw goes suddenly slack, mouth gaping impossibly wide, and some sort of warm feeling coils in Louis’ stomach, and he doesn’t knows if it’s from fear or relief or something else, so he just waits. But then Nick’s face goes back to an expression of pure and unadulterated anger and Louis thinks _fear_.

"Well, godamned good, because I’m in love with you too, you spoilt, ridiculous, stupid little shit," and Louis doesn’t know what he should get from this because Nick just told him he loves him too but he sounded as if he was telling him how he was planning to kill him, chop his miserable body in tiny little pieces and then hide the whole thing where nobody could find it.

"Fine," he says trying to sound angry, failing horribly, takes a step towards him and mentally preparing himself for being punched to a pulp and then getting to the conclusion he wouldn’t give a double shit anyway.

"Fine," Nick spits out.

And then they are kissing, violently, hungrily, slamming their bodies together like they are trying to mold them into one.

Nick grips Louis’ thighs and hoists him up, pushing him further against the wall, while Louis fists his hands into Nick’s hair, tugging lightly and proceeding to use the hold on it to tilt Nick’s head to get a better angle. He licks past the seam of his swollen lips, drawing Nick’s tongue in with hungry suction, causing a groan to slip from Nick’s mouth, who tucks his hand inside Louis’ pants and palms his bum with that bit of anger still lingering in his movements.  

They are both laughing when they stumble into Louis’ messy room while peeling off the few pieces of clothing still on the way -- because that gown was really ridiculous-- bumping against a drawer that surely will leave bruises all over Nick’s hip.

But the sounds turn back to loud and guttural moans as Louis shoves Nick against the wall near his bed, unceremoniously dropping to his knees and, with just a quick glance up at Nick’s wide and incredulous eyes, takes his cock inside his mouth without further compliments.

Nick lets out the sexiest groan Louis has ever heard, shuddering a bit when Louis sinks further and further down till he can feel it grazing the back of his throat. Nick places his hands on Louis’ head, carding his fingers through Louis’ messy hair and Louis chokes a bit when Nick jerks his hips absent-mindedly into the warmth and wetness of his mouth, and Louis shouldn’t find it so bloody arousing that he moans around Nick and nearly comes at the whines Nick’s making from above him.

He slides his mouth back up to the head, swirling his tongue around the crown, and licks the pearls of precome glistening the slit, relishing the salty and warm taste of Nick’s arousal against the roof of his mouth.

Just when Louis feels the muscles of Nick’s abdomen tremble, Nick takes Louis’ face in his hands and licks and bites his way into Louis’s mouth, tasting himself on his tongue, while he lifts him up back to his feet. He not-so-gently pushes Louis on the mattress and moves to tuck himself between Louis’ legs, coaxing him to spread them wider with firm and confident hands at the back of his thighs.

Nick takes hold of both their cocks, wet and slick with spit and precome, and gives few firm strokes, before trailing his finger along the cleft of Louis’ ass and pushing a finger inside almost drily, and it should hurt, it really should but the feeling is so perfect that Louis is so hard he thinks he’s gonna die.

Or come, very soon.

“Nick can you please go on with it and fuck me?”

“Little impatient thing, aren’t you?”

“Fuck off.”

“If you’re rude to me I won’t fuck you,” Nick says warningly, smirking because he has the indecency to be an unbearable asshole even when he’s a finger inside him and is (hopefully) going to fuck Louis into oblivion.

“Fuck off, _please._ ” Louis tries, and then whimpers when Nick moves his finger just _right_ and pushes inside a little deeper.

There’s this wonderful feeling winding up so tight inside him and he would like to be romantic and say something meaningful and deep, but he settles for whining when Nick adds another finger and crooks them to rub against his prostate with every dragged push.

“You are bloody cavemen Nicholas,” he groans, before pushing Nick off him with firm hands against his chest and moves to straddle him.

Nick’s hands skitter up his sides, and then drop to grip both Louis’ ass cheeks, spreading and kneading the soft flesh, groaning when Louis bites hard on his neck and then licks where a red blotch blossoms on the sweaty flesh. Nick leaves Louis’ bum, lifts his hand and fumbles blindly to reach for the lube tube lying on top of the drawer, uncapping it without hesitation and coating his fingers that soon find themselves inside Louis, who pins Nick down on the mattress, touching a light kiss to his lips, laughing almost hysterically when his thighs start to tremble and he thinks he’s gonna pass out if he doesn’t come _now_.

Nick pulls his fingers off, coating his dick with the moisture on them, and squeezes Louis hips to urge him to do _something_. But Louis is having none of that, so with a little smirk he starts rutting slowly against Nick, relishing the amazing feeling of their slick erections sliding against one another, and basks in the moans that rumble their way out of Nick as if he can’t control himself anymore.

“Do you think you can like, _move_ , before I rip my head off?” Nick groans, urging him to stop teasing before his dick explodes.

Louis grins down at him from under his sweaty lashes, wet and clumped and it’s all so perfectly filthy as he lifts his hips up and quickly, easily sinks down onto Nick’s cock, wet and slick and pulsing around him, arse spreading to take him in. 

 

Twenty minutes later, while he’s still bouncing onto Nick’s cock in an unrelenting and restless rhythm, and Nick fucks his hips up to meet Louis’ bounce, the dirty slap of skin resonates in the little room like an echo and he thinks that yeah, things are kind of okay.

Even if he probably won’t be able to walk for a week.

 

__

 

“You need a wash,” Nick says softly against Louis’ ear, kissing the lobe and sending shiver down Louis’ spine. Louis’ fingers skim down Nick’s chest, feeling the muscles of his stomach tense when he trails them along his sides.

“Your face needs a wash.”

“Not but thank you, I was trying to be romantic,” Nick grumpily says.

“By telling me I stink? Very effective Nicholas,” he retorts.

“You are emotionally constipated.”

Louis gasps indignantly and glares at Nick, and the first pinch comes along the way almost by accident.

Then things kind of go out of hand again and they find themselves tangled with the sheets, wresting on the mattress till Nick pins Louis down, holding both his wrists above his head. They giggle at each other like teenagers with their first crushes, which is an analogy that doesn’t go too far from the reality, to be honest, but nobody has to know. Not now at least.

"You’re naggy." Louis grins up at him, chin tilted defiantly while he tries to push Nick off him.

“Your feet stink.”

"You always talk when I try to study."

"You constantly touch my stuff."

“Your smell makes me horny.”

“That not really something bad Lou.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

"You listen to Lady Gaga."

"You get pissy on work days."

“You snore.”

“I don’t fucking snore, you obnoxious pissy slob.”

They go on like this for a while, Louis trying to wriggle his wrists out of Nick’s hold, opting to grinding his hips up against Nick when he notices he’s kind of trapped down. Nick glares at him, then lowers his head to lick his way into Louis’ mouth, nipping  just on the right side of painful at his bottom lip.

"I’m running out of things that you do that piss me off." Nick chews his lip. "When you wear glasses I want to ruin so much it almost hurts.”

“You look decent with your hair styled up.”

“I think you are beautiful.”

“I think you are passable.”

“Would it be a wrong moment to tell you I hate you?”. Nick pauses. “Ah, and that it was me who stole Harry’s Black Sabbath CD and then blamed you?”

“I broke you Ipod?!” Louis tries cautiously.

“You _what_?”

"Do you want to be my boyfriend?" Louis feebly asks, in lieu of giving an actual answer and digging his grave deeper than it already is. Because it’s an issue which is bugging him. Ridiculously so, actually. It’s embarrassing, really.

Nick laughs, eyes crinkling and narrowing with the intensity of it, and breathes out a little yes that gets lost with the aborted sounds Nick makes when he laughs that hard. 

Louis pinches his hip and whines “can’t you stop being a brat for once in your life and answer me?”

“I already said yes.”

“No fuck you. Why does it have to be me to ask you? Screw that.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Fine. Louis, will you be my boyfriend?”

"Nah."

Nick slaps a hand over his mouth and tries in vain to choke him and put an end to the struggles of his own life because seriously. Louis sometimes wonders why himself is still alive but he guesses the worlds just loves him and his bum so much to let him go. Nick doesn’t seem to share this idea.

Nick does share though the idea that rutting their dicks together provides a valid way to make distract people from being annoying, which turns out being really effective because Louis is hard as a rock again and this time there won’t be any teasing.

“Take off your pants.”

“Oh wow, just. You, Louis Tomlinson, just ordered me to take my underwear off,” Nick says and he smiles fondly up at him.

“I know, wonderful, isn’t it? Now take them off.”

 “I think I kind of don’t hate you. Maybe”. A pause. “Did you just lick me?” and Louis’ only response is a decisively loud snore.

 

_

 

Nick wakes with feeble sunlight stretching along his skin, pooling on the floor littered with discarded clothes and the few reminders of what happened last night.

He skims a hand blindly over the crumpled sheet, and feels lightly disappointed when he notices the space beside his is empty and cold. He groans, and sinks his head back into the pillow. He moves his hand to scratch at his forehead and fix the gauze that has fallen slightly over his eyes, but his fingertips are met with something that is definitely not his skin.

There is a sheet of paper stuck to his head with some scotch, and yeah, this happens in real life, he assumes. He nearly peels off his skin when he yanks it off and then proceeds on screaming a long and worth-an-high-five litany of swears and insults when he reads what is written on it, cursing the day he fell in love with a hideous and fucking annoying twink who is gonna be the death of him, if Nick doesn’t actually get around to planning a way to kill him first.

He stands up, dragging the sheet with him and then with a second thought, winds it around his waist,  padding out the bedroom and into the kitchen, steals a cookie or ten from the jar on the counter, opens the door, runs back to take the jar with him and, after a smile creeps across his face, shuts the door behind himself –cursing when the sheet get caught with the door, tearing out the fabric that partially hangs loosely from the frame- and once on the curbs, he walks to his flat not caring about the looks people are giving him.

Who needs shoes anyway.

Or like, clothes and a shower. He has a nice willy and the world deserves to see it. He's not surely the selfish type. Spread the love, or like, the willies.

Yeah, it sounded okay.

 

_

 

When Louis gets home, seven hours later when his classes finally end, is to find a piece of white sheet stuck on the door, a jar of peanut cookies missing, a bare bed and a piece of paper stuck to his pillow. It’s his own, with just some corrections made.

 

 _it’s 80 quids for my ass. leave them on the drawer and DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE TOUCHING MY FOOD, YOU PIG — > _ **_ha, too late. the biscuits were amazing_ **

_ah, I threw away that stupid gown you came with. I hope your gigantic ego will fit in my “too big ass for your tiny twink body” clothes — >  _ **_you DO have a massive ass_ **

_love you xxx — > _ ~~**i love you too**~~ _**i hate you** _

_**ps. your ass is not worth all that money, you wanker** _

_**pss you snore** _

_g **rimmy  xxx** _

 


End file.
